


Should Have Been You

by Grand_King



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Not-Them Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Other, jon gets hurt, the stranger takes Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grand_King/pseuds/Grand_King
Summary: After an argument with Tim, Jon is taken by the stranger.After an argument with Tim, John comes back to the archives and apologises.Jon is forced to watch as someone who wears their face earns Tim's forgiveness.Will he notice? Will he care?
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Should Have Been You

“Tim, please. I know you’re still upset about Sasha but-”

“ _ Upset? _ Do you think I’m just  _ upset _ about my best friend getting replaced? About becoming buddies with that  _ thing  _ that murdered her?” Tim interrupted, voice rising above an acceptable level. Martin watched in silence from his desk, unsure of what to do.

“I- no. Tim, of course not. I’m sorry. I know it’s been difficult for you; for all of us. I understand that you’re angry right now, angry and hurting, but you don’t have to take it out on us.” Jon tried to placate him once again, but Tim just scoffed, taking a menacing step towards Jon.

“Oh, you’re  _ hurting,  _ are you? What, all that guilt finally catching up with you?” He asked, voice dripping with acid. “You know, Sasha should have gotten the job as the archivist. Then she would probably still be alive because at least  _ she believed the statements _ !” He ranted. “You  _ threw them out.  _ And we had no way of knowing what was happening.” Jon tried to apologise again, but Tim gave him a withering glare, shutting him up quite effectively. “You know, I wish that thing had taken you instead, Jonathan. We probably wouldn’t even  _ notice. _ And if we did-” he let out a humourless laugh. Jon and Martin both flinched. “We wouldn’t care. Anything is a step up from you.” He turned around and sat back at his desk, not even offering a glance to where Jon was still standing.

Jon turned to Martin, who was purposefully looking away.

“Right. Okay, then.” Jon’s hands clenched at their sides, but their voice came out level. “Martin, if you need me, I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day.” They managed something that could probably pass as a smile, nodding at Martin before retreating to their office and shutting the door as quietly as possible.

Jon lasted all of about five seconds before they felt the burn of tears in their eyes, sobs clawing up their throat, choking them. They retreated from the doorway, tripping over a discarded file and falling against their desk. They winced at the noise, holding their breath and glancing anxiously at the door. Seconds ticked by slowly, but nobody knocked. They wiped their eyes, hands shaking and breath stuttering.  _ Was it true? Would anyone even know? _

They flicked off the light and locked the door, hands shaking. The darkness enveloped them, and they could immediately breathe easier. They stumbled back over to their desk, pulling the chair away and curling themself into the small space underneath. The closeness of the wood around them was comforting. They pressed their hands against their mouth, stifling sobs as much as they could.

Jon could remember a time, what felt like 100 years prior, when Tim would hold him and wipe away their tears. He would kiss them softly and remind Jon that they were loved. They would share everything in the late evenings up in research. Jon itched to walk out of their office, to seek comfort in Tim’s embrace. Instead, they pressed himself closer to the wooden backing of their desk, desperately trying to ignore the sounds of Martin and Tim laughing just outside the thin wall.

***

Jon had been sitting there for hours, staring at nothing, hardly remembering to breathe.  _ Do I even need to breathe?  _ Time was passing quicker than they thought possible, what felt like five minutes later, Martin was knocking on the door and asking if Jon was having tea with their lunch. Before Jon could even think to form an answer, a voice joined Martin’s at the door.

“Don’t worry about them, Marto.  _ Monsters _ don’t drink tea.” Tim’s voice dripped with acid, and Martin’s response was lost as Jon’s ears filled with a chorus of ‘ _ monster monster monster monster monster.’  _ Retrospectively, it’s quite easy to pinpoint when Jon started spiralling.

They didn’t remember much more of the day. Not until another knock startled them from their haze. They stood up, slowly, painfully. their joints and muscles protested much more than usual, and they relied heavily on their desk for support.

“Jon? It’s past home time. Tim and I are heading out for the night and-” Jon didn’t want to listen to anymore. They grabbed their battered messenger bag from where it rested beside their desk and walked over to the door, flinging it open and speeding past a stunned Martin. Their knees and back ached, muscles twitching in protest at the sudden change of pace.

They ignored Martin’s confused calls of their name, rushing out of the archives as quickly as possible. At least, until they knocked into someone and ended up sprawled face-first across the scratchy carpet.

“Really, I thought this all-knowing thing meant you wouldn’t do such  _ stupid _ things, boss.” Tim sneered, staring down at Jon.

Jon sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position and checking himself over for carpet burn or scrapes. Once they deemed themself relatively unharmed, they began the process of getting up, which is quite difficult for a person with chronic pain who has just taken an unexpected trip downwards.

When a hand moved into their line of sight, Jon’s initial instinct was to flinch away. Though that probably wasn’t the smartest idea if Tims’ scoff and footsteps retreating were any indication. Jon swallowed the lump in their throat and pushed themself up with trembling limbs, collecting their scattered papers and shoving them back into their bag.

Jon hated taking the train home from work, it was dirty and crowded, and they had read about far too many unsettling encounters taking place on the London underground. Even if they didn’t  _ fully believe  _ all of the statements, it was still an unpleasant experience. 

It was to be expected that Jon was rather on edge when they arrived back at their flat, hands shaking and limbs aching. They closed the door behind them, hands shaking as they picked up a tape recorder and a file, making their way to the shitty couch in the middle of the room.

_ “Hello, Jonathan, it’s been a while!”  _ Came a hauntingly familiar voice from the shadows, the shape of Nikola Orsinov stepping into the dim light. “ _ How  _ are  _ you, Archivist?” _ She asked, her unnerving smile twisted cruelly around her words.

Jon stared, frozen in fear and disbelief, as she walked closer and closer to them. The tape recorder clicking on went largely unnoticed by either of them.

“N-Nikola, you’re supposed to be- we-” Jon stepped back, fear gripping their heart. “You’re supposed to be dead. We blew you up.” They watched in horror as she shifted, plastic arms reaching towards them.

“ _ You can’t get rid of me  _ that  _ easily, Archivist! I have to pay you back for stopping my ritual and  _ blowing up my friends. _ Surely you understand?”  _ Her smiling mouth never moved, empty eyes unblinking.

Before Jon could even process what she had said, a pair of cold plastic arms wrapped around him from behind. They didn’t even try to fight. They were  _ so tired. _ And they had failed so many people. What did it matter if they died right then, in the middle of their apartment? Nobody would notice. Nobody would care. They were just tired, tired and sore. If they let Nikola take him again, maybe they could finally rest.

The last thing they saw before something heavy collided with their head, was a smooth plastic smile.


End file.
